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Amritsar -
Haridwar -
Rishikesh -
Manikaran -
Pushkar
Bombay -
Goa -
Hampi -
Dharamsala -
Gorakhpur
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Bombay
I proceeded to Dehli via Jaipur – a city where I would have liked to spend more time. I made up my mind to visit the treasures of the ‘Pink City’ at a later date though.
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At the Old Delhi Railway Station, a 'Tourist-hunter' tried to obtain a ticket for me! Once in a while they will be successful with their ‘hunt’, since not everyone has the patience to wait in an endless seeming line! And when you finally reach the counter, you get a smiling face and the information that there is no reservation-possible for the next 2 days. And they don't even inform you about the tourist centre for foreigners available. I found that, after a long search on the first floor, and with a certified bank vouche with the proper exchange, I got a ticket with a reservation for the next train. I used the few hours of the waiting-time, for a meal of rice with Alu Gobi (potatoes and cauliflower). India is a paradise for vegetarians. All great restaurants are strictly separated between vegetarians and non-vegetarians. No wonder, when you consider that more or less half of the population does not eat meat. For the long trip I bought an "India Times".
There was a huge crowd during the boarding and disembarkation. Large loads were passed through the windows and some people even climbed through them themselves. Fortunately I had caught a single window seat, and after I had stowed my luggage, I ate a Choley Bhature (beans with a little fried yeast bread) and drank a Chai on the platform. When I finally arrived to my seat, I saw that it was taken by a mentally handicapped boy. It took the boy’s father some time to convince him to remove himself from my seat and to return to his own place on the bench.
As I was riding, I read an article about the ancient tribe of the Muria people, who lived in the forests of central India along the shores of the Indrawati River in the State of Madhya Pradesh. They are famous for their Ghotuls who according to legend were founded by the phallic deity 'Lingo Pen'. He was an extraordinary musician and taught the youngsters to play the drums. According to a Muria saying:
"One who can beat the drums knows how to beat a woman in love".
Boys and girls live together without adults in the Ghotul. Every child older than six years is automatically a member. They learn to overcome jealousy and to develop kindness, compassion and common sense. Love unifies the members of the tribe and keeps them in good mood without the slightest tinge of possessiveness. Here, there is complete sexual liberty until marriage. Sexpartners rotate and a boy is fined if he sleeps with the same girl more than three times in a row. There is an initiation ceremony for the youngest including penile insertion in a lubricated crotch. Married couples are not allowed to enter this holy place, and 'Lingo Pen' is guarding this sinfree area to prevent the entering of witches and demons.
There is a lot of singing, dancing and story telling about, in this atmosphere. Most of the dances are sexually provocative. One of them is called 'Hulki' or snake dance, wherein the boys move in a ring while the girls cross their way through them. And after it the boys and girls start pairing off. But the final decision regarding the pairing rests with the leaders. They ensure that not only romance but also an element of duty is involved in the pairing. Hence even the ones who are not physically attractive are not passed by and get an equal chance to be paired off and to enjoy this democratic Ghotul socciety. Romantic liaisons do cause many a crime, and the Murias have successfully avoided it within their tribe. It is "a kingdom of the unmarried", says one of the Muria folk songs. Paradisiacal conditions in which I gladly would have lost my innocence to.
Bombay announced itself with it's endless slums along the railways - former swamps who were drained by the settlers on their own initiative but during monsoon regularly drown in the mud again. Some people had made their homes between the tracks of the suburban railwaystations, which wasn't allways the worst solution. At least it was dry there and therefore certainly not free of charge. I could look into their livingrooms. Children where fathered here and so were their children. How privileged I was after all! Still! At least as long as I would own a passport and some money. The poorest would probably have liked to change places with me.
A german prisoncell is more comfortable.
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Sehvermögen
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Gateway of India
Photo by Tabaiba
In Colaba I took a room at one of the numerous low-budget-hotels. The hotel was located near the 'Gateway of India', the monumental gate made from yellow basalt through which the passengers of the steamers from Europe put their first foot on the subcontinent, and in reality it was not less monumental and famous as the 'Taj Mahal Palace'. Probably nowhere else worldwide, does the world of the poorest touch the world of the immeasurably rich so closely as in the place between the Gate and the 'Taj Mahal Hotel'. On one street-side, are companies of beggars, bootblacks and ambulatory dealers, and on the other side, are the heavy coaches of the Indian multimillionaires, the Maharajas, the foreign diplomats and the Indian politicians that drive up.
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Tabaiba
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Fortunately again, I managed to get one of the sought-after boat-tickets for the continuation of my trip. Again I was amidst a wave of birds of a feather - and the wave found it's way along the coast up to Goa.
After the ship had left the harbour I was astonished to see the indians starting to drink like on command. And they drank a lot.
I found out that in India a "Drinking-Permit" was required to legally buy alcohol. This permit wasn't cheap. Only in Goa - as a former portuguese colony - this wasn't needed. And shortly after embarkation the laws of Goa were applied to. There was indian rum and whiskey - but also port wine. After a couple of glasses therefrom I had in mind again the fluteplaying of the cripple and the murias in their gotul. I rolled a small joint with my "Manikaran" which I smoked more or less unnoticed and with pleasure at the ship's rail.
In the movements of the water below I saw a reflection:
A gatekeeper protected an entrance from unwanted demons, and a beautiful dancer provided my admittance with her stamping feet and her welcoming gestures.
"Earth! Here here are my eyes - my gates to my soul
my dance is my prayer - forgive me, my trampling”
she seemed to sing, and spoke about a bee who could not resist the tempting smell of the sweet nectar of the lotus.
And I saw my both sides:
my emotional and my rational - soft and hard -
weak and strong - female and male.
Should I resist the sweet temptation althought the mind is concerned or should I sacrifice rational comprehension to my feelings? Like I wasn't able to resist Joe althought foreboding that he was false and I had let myself in for a dangerous adventure. And as I could not resist the temptation of the money. I would better have set off with my loved Teresa and her two children earlier. But the girls disturbed my love-luck and I was not ready for a family-life. But, I could have traveled with them together as a free and rich man!
I was torn between emotion and mind.
"Which mask shall I wear today"?
my question echoed into space.
My mediator played and flirted. She sacrificed flowers in order to get rid of obstacles on my way.
I travelled an endless road until finally the answer reached me:
"Think with your heart and feel with your mind!"
It was like an illumination.
And my herald danced, confirming it through my third eye!
I could'nt sleep, and shared the beautiful sight of unending coconut palm-lined beaches and their busy fishermen with other travel-companions in the dawn.
further
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Chris De Bié
Ardian Fu
Mimulux
Anjali Sriram
Adrian Ouarar
Ruff Libner -
travelling didjeridoo
George Gould
Matthias Jürgens
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